


Docked in Tempestuous Bays

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Arctic Monkeys
Genre: Boys Kissing, I ship Cookie and Al, Jamie and Alex being pricks to each other, M/M, No Beta, Slash, and you can't ignore the genius of alex's lyrics, but definitely not a song fic, gross mention of Arctic Monkeys lyrics, i just needed a reason to get these two together, i wrote this in one go, jamex, mention of blow jobs, mention of boys shagging, total one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a pity, it just hit me, we can't go back to the chest touching on the back."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Docked in Tempestuous Bays

**Author's Note:**

> An outlet for my sudden Jamex shipping. It comes from all those gifs of those two fuckers playing guitar with each other and making smirky faces, and then that video from Rio where Al is practically sitting on Cookie after their quasi-nudie swim. I took the plunge after reading SapphireSue. Not my first AM fic, but I'm pretty sure this is my first foray into slash. Enjoy, kudos, comment, whatever.
> 
> I'm not a fan of songfic wherein the lyrics of a song are heavily relied upon to tell a story, but I've always wondered about Alex's lyrics, and who they're really about. As they seem to be applicable to anyone, I decided Jamie would be the muse for his hopelessly romantic soul.

He’s thankful for a different country, and a continent thousands of miles away from ordinary. Here, the cramped confines of a tour bus are non-existent. It’s planes and shuttles that shuffle them all over south of the equator, and they’re dealt out into posh hotels and air conditioning. Sometimes there’s adjoining rooms, sometimes they’re floors away from each other. Either way, it makes the nights seem long and endless for Jamie. He won’t deny the fact that he’s a little upset that Katie couldn’t make it, but that disappointment is eclipsed by the thought of finally being alone with his mates (again) despite the fact that Breana has decided to join this last leg.

It was easier in the early days, when it was just the four of them tucked away into a bus trundling through England, or on trains rambling through Europe, or the bullet between Osaka and Tokyo. Now that they’re older, though, it seems that ease of youth and lack of care has been eclipsed by commitments and responsibility, and a sense of propriety that comes from being in the business for ten years plus. They’ve never been the band to splash across the headlines with drunken antics, loud, obnoxious behavior, or otherwise. But it’s not like they haven’t had their fair share of it, either. It’s just that being just behind the spotlight has made growing up a little bit easier.

Standing on a balcony in his hotel room in Bogota, Jamie spins the platinum band on his finger, and stares into the night, memories of that day in May filtering in. Katie had been a dream, all long, blonde hair, flowing white dress, and a dazzling smile. They couldn’t have asked for a better day - the breeze was warm, and soft, and the sun had almost outshone Katie’s beauty.

And Jamie couldn’t have asked for better mates. Nick had smiled gently and offered quiet congratulations right after the ceremony, but once dinner had rolled around, he’d sunk himself into beer after beer and become rather jovial, and the reservation he usually portrayed had quickly dissolved. Matt had grinned and joked the entire day, ribbing Jamie when it seemed like his nerves were getting the better of him before the ceremony, standing up to give a small toast to the happy couple after they were seated for dinner, and even deejaying a set or two once the dancing had started.

Then, of course, there was Alex. The very thought of the dark-eyed boy ( _man_ , Jamie’s brain corrects) makes Jamie want to smile, but he forces his mouth into a frown, despite the flutter in his belly. Fucking Alex. The frontman of the band had been rather...subdued for a celebration such as a wedding. When Tom Rowley had gotten married in the fall, Alex had been a very different animal indeed, the lounge lizard that Richie Hawley had named had come to the fore, and he’d slinked around the room making eyes at everyone, effectively avoiding Jamie’s glances all night.

But maybe that was because the last wedding they had attended together had been Jamie’s, and that had ended with a rather Shakespearian edge that had left Jamie confused, and sweating, and agonizing about the North American leg of the second part of their tour. Alex always had a way to make Jamie lose his footing, to make him second guess everything except for the searing desire that sunk deep into his bones whenever Alex was near. It was getting out of hand, Jamie knew it, and there was no way he could just ignore it, no matter how much he tried. And he _did_ try, for his sake, and Katie’s sake, and for Alex, because Alex was a tortured fool who let himself get swept away in his feelings and it wasn’t healthy, Jamie had reasoned once, when they were on their backs on the rough carpet of some Texas hotel room, spent and perspiring, gasping for breath and white knuckling their fingers together.

“Takes two to torture, Cookie,” Al had purred, pulling Jamie’s thumb knuckle to his lips and sucking sharply, scraping his teeth along the bone. “Don’t think I’m the only one fooling himself.”

And, fuck, Alex, Jamie had thought with a wince and a twinge behind his belly button. Fuck Alex, he was right.

+

The rolling bouts of nausea in Jamie’s guts that day were a direct result of getting married. It wasn’t like he feared commitment, but he did fear it with the wrong person, and he feared the ceremony being witnessed by those that were the right person. In the end, it really came down to Alex. Fucking _Alex_.

_Fucking_ Alex.

And Alex wasn't such a prick to show up on the day of Jamie’s nuptials, dick in hand, and salivating, chomping at the bit to corner the guitar player in the tiny room carved out for him at the B&B. No, Alex was actually much more calculating than that. He’d started off small, inconspicuous, and had left tiny clues in lyrics that could be interpreted a hundred different ways by a hundred different people. Ten years ago it had all seemed so innocent, so utilitarian, with the Sheffield lads pointing at things, and singing about them, and not really giving anything much thought.

It was in a tiny hole-in-the-wall hotel in Nottingham that Jamie stayed in room 505, and heated groping, and even hotter kisses became habit.

And, if Jamie really thought about it, he was that naughty friend who used to get young Al into bother more oft than not. He’d known Al since they were kids, not that they were much older now, but the grunts and growls that flitted up around them were certainly of a more adult nature.

Jamie’d never come out directly and asked if the slag in the song was actually him, but then again, he didn’t think he had to. He’d let Al call him that in the humid dark under cover. He’d let Al call him a lot more than that, in all sorts of places and predicaments.

The one time Jamie had tried to end things, to completely cut Alex off, to bury him, he’d told him point blank to fuck off, to stop flattering himself, and then, suddenly, Jamie had inevitably found himself strumming along to lyrics he’d spouted off. 

Perhaps fuck off _had_ been too kind.

+

The tone of things had changed when Alexa had come into the picture, of course. Jamie thought that any dalliances they’d had (and, at the time, that was how he saw them, merely a way to pass time between shows) would become a thing of the past, but, if anything, they only intensified, and increased in frequency. When Miles had become a third point to Alex’s emotional tangle, Jamie tried to distance himself - he couldn’t compete with a bird with blue-green eyes, or a lanky Scouser who had graceful fingers and charm for days.

At least, that was what he told himself. With regular cunt and a side of pretty boy, Alex would be fulfilled. He _had_ to be, Jamie reasoned, as he sat in a pub with his arm around Katie, years away from their marriage. But even as Al was wedged between Lex and Miles, those dark brown eyes still found Jamie, still made him tip precariously, still made him question himself, and Alex, and all the millions of reasons why this was wrong, and the one reason why this was so fucking right.

They just _fit_. And it was more than physical, though the way Jamie slid home into Alex’s lithe, lean frame was enough to steal his breath and make him ramble on. Jamie was the foil to Alex’s proclivity for the dreamy and dramatic, just as Alex made Jamie reflect on things and turn inwards for answers. They both had wicked senses of humor, and dry wit, but it was more than the brotherly tenderness between Alex and Matt, and it was more than the quiet contemplation between Alex and Nick. Alex and Jamie (who couldn’t help but grin every time Alex called him ‘Cookie’, despite the fact that everyone who knew him called him that at one point or another) were like a mortise and tenon joint: fitting snugly together, having been carved to do so, precisely, and hard to pull apart after years of being together.

+

_“Jamie’s your man,”_ Alex had plumbed on placidly, when asked if he was handy around the house. He went on to sum up that weekend spent retileing his bathroom with Jamie’s expertise, and had, of course, left out the parts where Alex had snogged Jamie breathless in the cold spring air as they loaded the supplies into Alex’s Mini, or how Jamie had succumbed to his baser instincts and bent the smaller man over the counter, work boots skidding over dust and debris from tearing the old tiles out, callused fingers hooked on the marble edge of the sink, and sweat-streaked faces contorted with pleasure flashing in the mirror. God, they’d fucked each other stupid, and their sighs and screams had echoed around them long after the last piece of slate had been fitted, and Jamie had washed the film of grout away.

“Think Lex will like the color?” Alex had asked from where he stood in the doorway behind Jamie, who was still on his knees.

And Jamie had sighed, filled with some strange, sickening mixture of relief and regret. “Yeah, mate,” he’d muttered. “She’ll like it just fine.” Jamie didn’t know why Alex was asking. It wasn’t like he shared the place with Lex.

Soon after that stilted conversation, he’d cleared the tools away, loaded them into his hatchback, and driven down lane, and three blocks over to his own flat, where he showered, and downed a beer under the water, and fell into a fitful sleep. Katie had rung him the next morning and he’d stuffed himself with coffee and eggs beside her at a local cafe, mentally wincing as she asked how his day with Alex went.

Fucking _Alex_.

_Fucking_ Alex.

+

LA was different. Jamie wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, to be honest. At first, it was too hot, too dry, too _American_ , too Hollywood and flash. The beer was piss. The cars were shit, but the burgers were good.

The desert was fucking _scary_. It wasn’t just the vastness, the isolation, or the coldness that came with it.

It was because out there, as Josh had put it, the only thing to destroy is yourself.

So, Jamie destroyed himself, and Alex destroyed _him_ self, and they all burned some part of themselves out, and from the ashes, became something new.

And even though Lex was thunderstorms, and her motorcycle boots gave Alex acrobatic blood, he hinted at cheating hearts, and in the next breath begged someone to show him what to do.

_“I know you’ve got the moves,”_ Alex had panted around a thin whine as Jamie rutted, and then clapped a wide palm over Alex’s reddened mouth.

_“Shut up,”_ Jamie grunted, rolling his hips and touching the spot that made Alex howl into his palm.

Jamie pocketed the sound and played through it the next day when they were plugged in and Alex’s words formed a song that was more or less a play by play of lazy-lit afternoons spent in Jamie’s room, old westerns flickering silently on the television screen as Jamie’s face was pressed into the carpet while he let Alex ride into the sunset for a change.

And Jamie wished for a stuntman somedays, someone to take his place when the bruises and the brute force became too much for him to bear. Alex became a ghost, dark circles under his dark eyes, and dark hair falling in his face, and Jamie cut his beard and his hair, before the whisker burn became glaringly obvious on Alex’s sensitive skin, and Lex found one too many long, blond hairs clinging to his sweaters.

A week after that, Lex was gone, and with it, Alex’s hair. He could no longer hide behind the chocolate colored waves and Jamie couldn’t decide if he liked it or loathed it, now being able to see everything reflected in the dark pools of Alex’s eyes.

“I joost wanted to be back in your club,” Alex whimpered. He hissed as Jamie swallowed him down, and Jamie lost himself in the taste, and the way his throat was filled.

+

“Congrats, mate,” Matt grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder and raising a glass. He leaned over Jamie’s shoulder to kiss Katie on the cheek, and then to inspect the ring Jamie had presented her with the week prior.

Jamie smiled with her, proud of the cut and clarity, but kept one eye on the door, waiting.

Hoping.

Desperate.

For all the drowning Alex caused with his presence, nothing was more suffocating than when he was absent.

When Alex did show up, however, he wasn’t alone. He’d brought a girl with cinnamon hair and severe cheekbones, her nails red and sharpened to points. She looked like she’d eat Alex alive, and they didn’t seem to fit, despite the way he’d smiled and stared longingly into her eyes for most of the afternoon. When he finally made his way over to Jamie, he’d left the girl - Arielle, he’d later been told by Nick - with Matt, and fumbled his way through some flowery congratulations that made Katie giggle.

Alex was always making the girls giggle.

Jamie fumed, and Katie left to chatter among her sisters.

“Sounds like you’re settling down,” Alex mused, before throwing the last half of his whiskey and ginger down his throat. “Givin’ up.”

“Ain’t nuffin’ to give up on,” Jamie snapped back. He heard Alex swallow audibly and made the mistake of looking into those dark eyes, so unbelievably visible now that his hair was pushed back from his face. To keep himself grounded, Jamie stared at the widow’s peak.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that,” Alex muttered, setting his glass down and pulling at the collar of his shirt. “When that fat lady has a sing, you let me know.”

+

“So, are you mine tomorrow?” Alex whispered three days later, pushing the longer strands of Jamie’s hair from grey-blue eyes. “Or was that just for the night?”

+

Their fans speculate on the roots of the lyrics, drawing conclusions that lead to both Lex and Arielle. Jamie knows better, though, and perhaps Nick and Matt do, too, though none of them let on. Alex’s talent with words lies in how he’s able to paint a picture of what you want it to look like, what you want to interpret it as, while the true meaning is kept rather close to his shrewd little heart.

It’s not fair, Jamie thinks, as he watches Alex approach him on stage, slick little fucker he is, plucking chords and licking his lips, pursing his pout and winding his hips. And Jamie can’t help but mirror him and smile, and for a moment, its just the two of them outrageously flirting, with each other, with danger, and scandal, not that anyone else will take heed. They play back to back and Jamie thinks about all the other ways they’ve played, too, when the night is over, or just beginning as Alex puts it, when the crowd has died but the whiskey keeps flowing. 

Jamie’s engagement feels like a dream, one of those ones that could be real, but then Alex is leaning against him and singing rather drunkenly, and it’s Jamie’s turn to get him into bed because Matt’s got to phone Breana, and Nick’s on his way to throwing up, and Arielle is gone, too. She’s been gone for a few months, and Alex seems to weather this a lot better than when Lex disappeared, but something has changed. He’s dropped that Teddy Boy standard and is edging towards some entity that crawls in shadows and drips sensuality. There’s never been more fluidity in his movements and words than there is now, and he oozes into Jamie’s senses, and squeezes into his heart with more ease than he has in the past. He’s water on the rock of Jamie’s soul, always able to cut a path, despite the obstacles.

“You’ll never marry her,” Alex slurs as he slumps against the wall next to the door to his suite and Jamie rifles through his pockets for the key. “You’re _my_ Cookie,” he sighs, falling against Jamie’s side as the older man ushers him into the room. “Sugar Cookie. Better than any candy cane.”

Jamie snorts, and wonders if Alex means _Kane_ , but it doesn’t matter as his hands pull the pointy shoes off, and then slide up the lean legs and hard-muscled thighs to find Alex already pulling his shirt tails free of the waistband on his slacks.

“Mine,” Alex mumbles again, pulling the tie from Jamie’s hair free and hooking his fingers into the dark blond strands. “You’ll never fookin’ marry ‘er.” Alex has his other hand down the front of Jamie’s slacks before Jamie has time to register, and Alex is chanting, “Fook me, Jameh, c’mon. C’mon, babeh, and fook me.”

Jamie wakes up the next morning and stumbles back to his room. With the echoes of Alex’s hot, rasping screams still licking a flame between his hips, deep in his guts, he calls Katie and makes a date two weeks later to plan the small, intimate affair on that fateful day in May.

+

 

“Everybody fookin’ leaves,” Alex had mumbled, slumped against the wall of the garden where Jamie and Katie had exchanged vows six hours before. “I mean, everybody, Jameh. I’m startin’ to fink it’s me, yeah? I find a good fing an’ fook it up, make it bleed out an’ suffer.” He paused and took a long swig from his beer, and then shot Jamie a sidelong glance. “Don’t look at me like tha’,” he suddenly snapped, sliding up to stand straight, still leaning. “Don’t look at me like I’m th’only one that’s at fault here, Cookie.” He swigged his beer again. “You’re joost as cruel as I am, you know that? Ran all the way back to England to marry Katie, joost to prove me wrong.”

Jamie scowled and pried the bottle from Alex’s fingers. “You’re drunk.”

And Alex grinned, shrugged his shoulders, lifted his hands. “What can you do? Did you really expect me to show up an’ joost let you walk away?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Al,” Jamie softly protested, but it tasted like a lie, and it dried on his tongue. He inspected the bottle he’d taken from Alex and, finding a mouthful left, downed it, and then tossed the bottle into a bush.

“Six months is a long time away, ‘specially for newlyweds. She taggin’ along?” Alex shrugged to himself. “May as well, ‘elders is bringin’ Breana.”

“She’s booked up until September,” Jamie blurted out, already imagining how Alex will take advantage of that information.

“Pity,” Alex mocked, taking a step towards the reception tent, his shoes scuffing in the loose gravel of the path. “Who’s gonna take care of me Cookie? Hm?” He turned and stepped towards Jamie, long, graceful fingers sweeping over the lapel of the pewter-colored jacket, straightening the white rose tucked there. 

Jamie steeled himself, trying not to feel the heat seeping through the jacket, or the electricity that always came with one of Alex’s touches, perfunctory or otherwise, but he felt himself sway towards the younger man, his own hands tightening into fists to resist combing back the dark hair that fell over the dark eyes.

Alex didn’t kiss him, and Jamie was beyond deflated. For all the build up and rambling Alex has done, Jamie expected nothing less than the hot, wet press of those reddened lips, and so he was taken aback as Alex leaned against him, looping his arms around his waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of Jamie’s neck. He breathed deeply, and Jamie couldn’t keep from returning the embrace. 

“I love you,” Alex sighed.

The irony of Alex’s immediate exit was not lost on Jamie.

+

For the next six months, despite all that was said on Jamie’s wedding day, he and Alex are reckless. They fuck each other on stage, clothes on, back to back, back to front, guitars screaming, and they fuck each other off stage, front to front, front to back, head, shoulders, knees, and toes, naked, and brutal.

_“Take off your wedding ring,”_ becomes Alex’s mantra.

_“This is the last time,”_ becomes Jamie’s.

+

Alex is almost completely absent for the final leg before they depart for South America. Jamie knows it’s because Katie has come to meet them in Texas, and the room the young couple shares is not unlike that one he and Alex shared three years prior where they sweat it out on the carpet.

Jamie doesn’t know how to act. Being a part of a couple with Katie feels like one big lie, and he swears she can tell he’s going through the motions, but perhaps she’s determined to play her part anyway, smiling and laughing and gabbing with Breana, shopping and lunching and standing at the wings as they play show after show. She sits beside him on the plane, and Alex sits a few rows back, dark glasses always on, head ducked low, hangover firmly in place. Sometimes he forgets to shave, something that Jamie wants to point out, but doesn’t know if he has the right to do so. Katie remarks on Alex’s dark mood, but Jamie just shrugs. “You’ve known him for almost ten years,” he replies, “that’s just the way his face falls.”

Jamie cuts his hair off in Miami. They’ve three days before they depart for Argentina, and he goes for it, with Katie’s urging. As soon as he walks into the hotel lounge, however, having left Katie on the strip to do more shopping, he spots Al, and Al spots him. Al makes a face that Jamie can’t interpret, and then turns back to the bar and sinks his drink. Then, he’s gathering his cigarettes and his sunglasses, and he brushes past Jamie without much of a glance.

Jamie snags his elbow and halts him.

For a moment, they just look at each other, Alex scrutinizing the new look Jamie sports, and Jamie frowning at Alex’s state of inebriation this early in the afternoon.

Alex’s lips part on a sigh and he shakes Jamie’s hold off, his jaw clenching as he turns away. “How’s it, then,” he asks flatly.

“S’all right,” Jamie replies lamely.

“All right,” Alex nods, before pushing past him to the lobby.

The next day, Katie boards a flight back to LA to resume her modelling. That night, Jamie finds himself staring at the numbers on Alex’s hotel room door, while he plays a rather torturous game of ‘should I / shouldn’t I’.

Alex makes the decision for him, opening the door and pulling Jamie inside.

+

“I don’t think we’ve ever successfully spent the night together, Cookie.”

Jamie looks up from where he spins his wedding ring on that balcony in Bogota, and turns to see Alex wandering from the bedroom, bedsheet wrapped around his hips.

“One of us is always running out on the other,” Alex continues. He’s got an unlit cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his other hand, and once he’s out of doors, he lights up, and puffs away for a bit.

“Can we not…” Jamie starts, but falls silent as he looks up and finds Alex’s profile turned to him, those wide, coltish eyes staring into the night.

“Let’s pretend, then,” Alex muses, flicking ash into the darkness. He blows a stream of smoke over his head and then puts the smoke to his lips and takes another hard, long drag. “Let’s pretend, for as long as we can, yeah? Because after this…” and now it’s Alex’s turn to fall silent, and he waves at the lights spread out before them, the city still wide awake. “After this, I don’t know what’s left. I’m fookin’ tired, Jameh,” Alex admits, crushing the cherry on his cigarette against the railing he leans on.

“Me, too,” Jamie offers softly.

They lean together on the balcony, naked shoulders touching, breeze ruffling through their hair.


End file.
